


Politely Profane

by Rospberry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comedy, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Marcus just generally bugs the hell out of Oliver, Mild Angst, Mild Smut, Sarcasm, Sibling Rivalry, Swearing, irritating regional accents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-07-17 13:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16096406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rospberry/pseuds/Rospberry
Summary: In a moment of madness, Oliver Wood thought inviting his boyfriend, Marcus Flint, home to meet his parents was a good idea. It was entirely probable it wasn't. Featuring pickled eggs, a spiteful sibling, and a thoroughly foul mouthed Slytherin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A completely self indulgent post Hogwarts portrayal of typical Scottish nonsense. Chunks of this are written and I just need to fill in the gaps and rearrange it a bit. Posting in the hopes it inspires me to get writing and finish it so be warned :)
> 
> Edit: Now betad by the fantastic fredbasset, any mistakes still in here are entirely my own and as hard as she tries to cure me of my overuse of italics, I can't help but leave some in *g*.

"Be polite, all right? This is my mum and dad."

Marcus sneered. "'Course I will. I'm not fucking stupid."

"And don't swear. Mum doesn't like it." Oliver turned the car into the driveway of a stone-built semi-detached house; a quite unremarkable home sitting in the middle of a middle class neighbourhood on the outskirts of Perth.

"Going to be a bit of a bugger to 'ave a conversation, then," Marcus retorted. "Wot with me being so fuckin' foul-mouthed an' everything."

"You're not funny." Parking behind his dad's battered Ford Focus, Oliver switched off the engine. Nerves jingled in the pit of his stomach. "Right then, let's get this over with."

Moments later, bags in hand, he led Marcus slowly across the gravel to the house. His mind was still racing with all the things that could, and probably would go wrong. "Don’t insult Muggles, either.”

"Merlin, Wood, what else? Don't breathe? Don't grope your arse?"

Oliver knew Marcus was leering at his bum – he could feel his eyes – but he didn't look around; instead, he kept his voice neutral and said, "Don't call me Wood. They'll think it's weird."

"Wot am I meant to call you, then, _Wood_?"

"I don't know." He couldn't keep the frustration out of his voice – why had he ever suggested this? It wasn't too late to turn back; they hadn't reached the front door yet. "How about my name?"

"But 'Wood' is your name."

"For fu-" Oliver began to turn to vent his annoyance at his boyfriend, when behind him the front door of the house opened and his mum was standing, tall and respectable, dark curls edged with streaks of grey escaping from the neat twist of hair pinned at the base of her neck.

She was smiling and peering at them over the top of a pair of half-rimmed glasses. "Oliver, you're home!" She hurried towards them, and Oliver turned to face her, wiping the irritation off his face and murmuring a silent prayer.

"Hiya, Mum." The words were smothered as she pulled him into a tight hug, and he had to push her away, red-faced and protesting. "Mum, stop it."

"Ach, be quiet." She turned to Marcus, who was looking far too amused for Oliver's liking "And you must be Marcus." She extended a hand, which Marcus shook politely. "Oliver's told us so much about you."

Oliver cringed. "Mum…" But she wasn't paying him any attention.

"It's lovely to meet you, Mrs Wood." Oliver heard the politely spoken words, and he looked at Marcus in surprise. His boyfriend was smiling at his mother. "Ollie's told me so much about you, too."

Ollie? He'd what? What the fucking fuck? He was glaring at Marcus, hoping to sear him with his gaze. His mum, traitor that she was, had hooked a hand into the crook of Marcus's elbow and was leading him into the house.

"Bring in Marcus's bags, won't you, Oliver," she said over her shoulder, and Oliver saw that Marcus had left his bag lying on the ground. “You can tell me all about your journey up here. Oliver said it’s the first time you’ll have used Muggle transport. I hope it wasn’t too traumatic for you. We just like to make sure that Oliver learns to appreciate Muggle ways.”

“Oh, no, Mrs Wood, it was fun.”

Oliver stared incredulously at the back of Marcus’s head. Fun? Marcus had moaned from the instant they’d left the flat to get a taxi. Tried to cajole Oliver into Flooing at least part of the way up the Scotland, but Oliver knew from past experience that his mum would find out. She always did, and it really wasn’t worth the grief. The only way he’d finally managed to get Marcus to shut up was to drag him into the toilet during the flight to Edinburgh and show him just what Muggles got up to. The same again in the back seat of the hire car. He hoped to Merlin that his mum didn’t find out about that.

Marcus twisted his head around and gave Oliver the full benefit of his crooked tooth grin. "You coming, _Ollie_?" he said, turning away before Oliver could even mouth an obscenity at him.

Oliver followed them into the house, laden with both their bags, and heard his mum chattering away, telling Marcus all about the house and the improvements they'd made. Oliver could only imagine what his boyfriend was thinking – he was certainly making a show of feigning interest – but it was unlikely he was finding the Muggle residence even remotely impressive. It was a far cry from most Pureblood homes; his parents had tried to keep it as inconspicuous as possible, both of them enjoying the simplicity of the Muggle lifestyle, and so, apart from the odd cleaning charm and heating spell, the house was like any other in the area.

"And this is the kitchen," he could hear his mum saying as she led Marcus through the magnolia painted hallway, past the bottom of the stairs, and through the door at the back. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"That would be great, thank you."

Thank you? Oliver dropped the bags onto the floor with a heavy thud and they both turned around. His mum tutted. "Be careful!" she chastised. "He's like a bull in a china shop," she informed Marcus, and he nodded.

"He's just the same at the flat."

"I am not. He's bloody lying."

"Oliver! Don't be so rude. Apologise this instant."

Marcus smirked, and Oliver bit the side of his cheek to stop himself from making things worse. "Sorry," he muttered.

"S'alright," Marcus said. "Mind your language in front of your mum, though."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a moment of madness, Oliver Wood thought inviting his boyfriend, Marcus Flint, home to meet his parents was a good idea. It was entirely probable it wasn't. Featuring pickled eggs, a spiteful sibling, and a thoroughly foul mouthed Slytherin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, look, I iz writing. Wee bit later than I'd hoped and, Ye Gods, my writing is stilted but, hey, writing. *pats self on the head and*wanders off to fiddle with the next bit which is more complete than this section was*

After stowing the bags – Marcus’s into the spare room – Oliver came back downstairs to find out what damage his boyfriend had wreaked. His suspicions were heightened when he heard his mum and Marcus giggling, even more so when they stopped as he entered the room.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing,” they both said in unison. And giggled again. It was unsettling. In all the years they’d known each other Oliver had never heard Marcus giggle, and he was pretty sure he’d be happy never to hear the sound again.

Best for all concerned if he pretended it had never happened, he decided. Marcus was holding a large Puddlemere United mug, full to the brim with milky tea, and Oliver nodded at it. “Don’t suppose you made one for me?”

“’Course we did,” Marcus said, bobbing his head in the direction of the kettle and the garishly floral mug lying beside it.

“Thanks, Mum,” Oliver said pointedly, retrieving the mug and narrowly dodging the poking finger aimed at his ribs.

“Oi. I got the mug out of the cupboard.”

“I can tell.”

“Underappreciated, that’s wot I am.”

“Didn’t even know you knew what that meant.” Oliver grinned evilly, knowing Marcus was working hard to keep his retorts clean.

Maybe his mum realised it, too, because she came to Marcus’s rescue. “So,” she said loudly. ‘What have you boys got planned for the rest of the evening?”

“I thought I’d take Marcus out for some chips. Catch up with Colin.”

Marcus looked surprised but said nothing. Oliver hadn’t mentioned Colin. His mum, however, frowned. “Do you really think that’s wise?”

“Mum, c’mon.” Oliver sighed.

“Fine,” she snapped. “You know my feelings on the matter. The amount of trouble he got you into...”

“When we were eight, Mum. Eight.” He did a quick mental calculation. “More than eleven years ago, now. I think I can handle any trouble he gets me into.”

Marcus laid a hand on her arm. “Don’t worry, Mrs Wood, I’ll keep an eye on them.”

Oliver winced, waiting for his mum to bellow at him; she hated being touched by strangers. Instead, she smiled and visibly relaxed, patting his hand. “Thank you, Marcus. That does reassure me, somewhat.”

Maybe he’d been Apparated into an alternate dimension. That was it. Hours -no, weeks- worrying whether his mum would approve of Marcus and it seemed like she’d instantly adopted him. When he’d brought home Sally Campbell for dinner in Sixth Year his mum had been so standoffish he’d faked food poisoning so they could Floo back to Hogwarts early. The relationship lasted only a couple of weeks after that, although Oliver would admit her finding him and Percy snogging in the Quidditch stands might have been a factor in the break-up. So, he’d assumed Marcus would have been treated with even more disdain – particularly with him being the first bloke he’d brought home. It was confusing, and it made him even more worried about whether his dad was going to behave.

He was aware his mum was still speaking. “I’m just sorry that we couldn’t have a proper family dinner for you tonight. Oliver left it to the last minute, as usual, to tell us you were coming.”

Oliver resisted the urge to roll his eyes – his mum would kill him. It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d told her weeks ago, she still wouldn’t have changed her routine. Friday nights were sacred in the Wood house. “Mum has her Zumba on a Friday,” he explained. Marcus nodded but Oliver knew that he didn’t have a clue what Zumba was. He also knew that he’d never admit not knowing something, so he added, “It’s an exercise class.”

“Marcus knew what you meant, Oliver.”

Did he arse, Oliver thought, taking a swallow of his cooling tea to forestall the instinct to answer back. Marcus laid his own mug on the counter and leant back, propping himself on an elbow, looking far too amused for Oliver’s liking. He had no right to look so disgustingly relaxed, shirt open and revealing Quidditch-toned muscles stretching against an almost indecently tight Travis t-shirt. Oliver’s eyes narrowed. Travis was a Scottish Muggle band so why the hell was Marcus- oh, for fuck’s sake, the twat was pinching his clothes now _._ He could have sworn that Marcus hadn’t been wearing that earlier. In the car it had definitely been a black top that hadn’t required too much effort to remove in the confined space. The t-shirt he was wearing now would have to be peeled off him. 

That was a train of thought so completely inappropriate in the current situation and so Oliver forced his attention back to his mum. “You should see if your father wants anything while you’re out. I’ve done him a nice ham salad but I suspect he would be more than happy to ignore his cholesterol levels for one evening. Make him feel better by pretending I don’t know.”

“Where is he?”

“Last I saw, he was heading to his shed. That’ll be him him in there for the rest of the night.”

Oliver frowned. “In the shed?”

“His latest project. Never mind that the front room needs redecorating or that the hedge is needing trimmed. Much more important for him to carpet the shed.”

“He’s carpeted the shed?” Maybe it was dementia.

“Carpet, television, and a brand new armchair. Of course, he claims he got it from his bowling friend, Brian, but your Aunt Grace saw him in Sterling Mills in the furniture section and it looks far too new to be used. I sometimes think he would move in there if he could.”

“Isn’t it freezing in there?” He meant the shed, not Sterling Mills.

She was staring out into the back garden, lips pursed. “Not now. He’s insulated the walls and got a portable little heater. If he’s not careful, and forgets to turn it off one night, there might be a terrible accident and the whole thing could burn to the ground. He would be devastated.” The words were said with a faint sense of malice as though his mum had envisaged the scenario in great detail.

Marcus was looking impressed and Oliver suspected it was more because of his mum’s vindictive fantasies than that his dad had made himself a man cave in the back garden.

“What about Stuart?” His little brother had been conspicuously absent since they had arrived.

“He’s away out with some friends.” From the way she said it, it was clear she didn’t approve. Then again, she hadn’t approved of any of Oliver’s friends when he was younger so that meant nothing. “I’ve told him to be home by ten, so I assume he will get his own dinner whilst he’s out.”

Oliver’s stomach chose that moment to let his own need for dinner known, and Marcus chuckled.

“Think we should ‘ead out to see this mate of yours before you starve to death. Bit peckish, too, if I’m ‘onest.”

Oliver was vaguely horrified to see his mum smiling fondly at Marcus. “You look like you could both do with a bit of fattening up,” she said. Not if he was wearing his own bloody clothes, Oliver thought.

“If you hang on a minute, I’ll go get you some money.”

“Mum, you don’t need-”

“Of course I do.”She plucked his mug from his fingers and setting it beside Marcus’s. “Besides, I expect you’ve forgotten that you’ll need Muggle money to pay for them.”

Oliver flushed guiltily. “I...er...”

“Just as I thought. Back in a minute.” She headed out of the room, letting the kitchen door swing shut behind her.

There was a brief silence, then Oliver hissed, “Why are you wearing my t-shirt?”

“Pinched it out of your bag in the car. Changed in that service station you made us go in to.” His hand slid down the front and pulled it free from his jeans, gesturing to the front. “Mine was sticky. Right here.”

“Why was it-? Oh, aye. I remember.” Oliver flushed darkly, mentally flailing. His mum was in the other room, for Merlin’s sake. “It’s too bloody small for you, though.”

“Really?” Marcus stared down at himself, assessing. “Nah, don’t agree. Makes me look fuckin’ ‘ot, don’t you think?” His eyes met Oliver’s in mischievous challenge.

“I...er...” Oliver was stuttering for an entirely different reason, now. The room had suddenly grown a lot warmer.

Marcus slid a hand under the t-shirt, the material clearly outlining his fingers as they splayed against his skin. He wiggled them. “See, loads of room.” The fingers started to slide down and Oliver groaned.

“Stop it, eh.”

“Wot?” Marcus asked with feigned innocence.

Oliver was saved by the return of his mum, sweeping back into the kitchen surrounded by a cloud of cloying perfume she’d clearly just sprayed.

“I’ll leave the money here and you two can argue about who’s paying.” She seemed completely unaware of the tension in the room, placing notes on the counter and tapping a finger. “That should be more than enough. Now, I’m going to have to leave you boys to it. I just saw the time and I’m running late. I’ve got to pick up Morag on the way and she’ll have my guts for garters if I make her wait. Not that she’s ever on time, mind you.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Oliver said tightly, trying to ignore Marcus’s fingers idly tracing a path across his stomach just above his jeans. “Have a good time.”

“Yeah, ‘ave fun, Mrs Wood.”

She frowned. “Is something wrong?” she asked, eyes flicking between them.

Oliver forced himself to smile. “Nope. Just hungry.”

Marcus nodded. “Starving.”

“Okay.” A further narrowing of suspicious eyes, then she relented. “Don’t forget to speak to your dad,” she said. “And don’t be out too late.”

“I’m not Stuart,” Oliver retorted.

“And this isn’t a hotel.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

Tapping the money once more, she breezed out of the room and moments later they heard the front door slam.

*

“Enjoy that, did you?” Oliver asked testily.

“Which bit?”

“Ganging up on me with my mum.”

“Would be lying if I said no.”

“She likes you, anyway. What did you do? Chuck a potion in the tea?”

“Jealous?”

“Aye, right.”

“I like ‘er.” Marcus smirked. “’Ave to admit I wouldn’t say no if she was offerin’.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in and Oliver's glared. “Don’t be a prick.”

“A Wood sandwich. Can see the- Oi!” Oliver’s fist punched his shoulder, hard, and he stepped back, rubbing it and eyeing Oliver warily. “Wot the ‘ell did you do that for?”

“That’s my mum you’re talking about.” Oliver was furious.

“Wood, come on, I was only bein’ funny. Don’t take it so personally.”

“My mum. Fucking hell, Flint, how would you like it if I said the same about yours?”

“You’ve seen my mum. She’s got an arse on ‘er the size of Belgium. No way you’d be wantin’ to poke anything-”

That didn’t help. “I knew this was a mistake,” Oliver said. “Bloody well knew it, but no, I thought, he promised. He said he’d behave. I should have known better after all these years. You never change.”

The smile fell from Marcus’s face. “Not fair, Wood. I ‘ave been polite. Ask your mum. She likes me. You said it.”

“Don’t know why,” Oliver muttered in defeat, the anger leaving as quickly as it had come in the face of the truth.

“It’s me charm,” Marcus said breezily, slinging an arm around Oliver’s shoulders. “It’s why the Daily Prophet put me above you in the ‘ottest bachelor poll last year.”

“Nope,” Oliver said, shrugging him off and heading towards the back door, taking the money from the counter as he went past. “That was because you sucked off the columnist in the toilets of the Cauldron while he was writing the article.”

Marcus gaped. “How the ‘ell did you know about that?”

Oliver grinned faintly and waggled his eyebrows. “I have my sources.” He pulled the door open. “Ready to meet my dad?” he said.

“No but lead the way. On me best behaviour.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a moment of madness, Oliver Wood thought inviting his boyfriend, Marcus Flint, home to meet his parents was a good idea. It was entirely probable it wasn't. Featuring pickled eggs, a spiteful sibling, and a thoroughly foul mouthed Slytherin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope someone's enjoying this nonsense. Not sure Oliver is *grin*.

"So, how do you know this bloke?" Marcus asked as they walked down the street.

"He's my best pal."

"Your wot?" Marcus's head snapped towards him.

Oliver was amused. "Best pal. What? Did you think I didn't know anyone before I went to Hogwarts?"

"Nah, but…" Marcus shoved his hands into his pockets, thick eyebrows lowering into a frown. "It's just hard to meet other wizarding kids before you go to school."

Oh. "Colin's not a wizard."

"Eh? Not a wizard? Your best mate's a squib?"

“He's a Muggle," Oliver said levelly, keeping on walking even when Marcus slammed to a stop.

A few seconds later he heard the thumping footsteps as Marcus caught up with him. "What the fuck did you want to do that for?"

"Do what, exactly?" He had suspected that this would be Marcus's reaction, but even so, it still rankled.

"Make friends with a _M_ _u_ _ggle_?" Marcus managed to make it sound like a swear word, and Oliver's fists clenched.

"Shut up."

Marcus ignored him. "Merlin's beard, Wood. A Muggle. I always knew you were soft, but this…"

Oliver spun around, fist clenched. “Are you determined to piss me off today? Cause it’s bloody well working. I thought we were past all this Pureblood shite. I told you I was brought up to respect Muggles. My mum’s a teacher at a Muggle school, for fuck’s sake. You know that. You said you were fine about it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Marcus shifted awkwardly. “I just didn’t think I’d ‘ave to spend time with any of ‘em, that’s all.”

“They’re no bloody different to us.”

“They can’t do magic,” Marcus said. “That’s pretty fuckin’ different. And I was brought up to think that was worse than...than...well, anyfink, really.”

“Do you know how mental that is?”

“I can’t change ‘ow I was raised, Wood.” Marcus held his hands up. “I’m tryin’ my best ‘ere. I wouldn’t do this for anyone else, you know.”

That quelled Oliver’s temper somewhat. This weekend was going to be the end of him, it really was. “Just try not to be too insulting, eh. Mind what you say.”

"Oh, fuckin’ ‘ell, don't tell me I have to pretend to be one of them?" He looked pained. "Do I?"

"No," Oliver said, setting off again. Still disgruntled, his feet thudded hard on the pavement with each step. "He knows about wizards, all right? When I first met him, I accidentally levitated their cat across the garden."

"So why didn't the Ministry…?"

"Because we lied. He pretended he hadn't seen it. By the time everyone found out he knew, they'd have had to Obliviate years of memories – and that was too big a risk. Anyway, he'd proved he could keep quiet."

Marcus was silent, and when he finally spoke, he sounded resentful. "Can't believe you got away with that. If that'd been me, they'd ‘ave Obliviated 'im anyway."

"Aye, but Dad's quite high up in the Ministry," Oliver said reluctantly. "He pulled some strings."

"Must be really high up."

"He does all right," Oliver said. He kicked a stone along the pavement, keeping it skittering ahead of them as they walked along. "Could you do me a favour?"

"Depends."

"What do you mean, it 'depends'?" Oliver shot Marcus a sideways look and saw he was smirking.

"If you're going to ask me to kiss Pucey then I'd have to say no."

"Why the hell would I ask you to kiss Pucey?" Oliver felt a pang of jealousy at even the thought of Marcus touching another bloke and he tried to shrug it off.

"Dunno. But I wouldn't do it. 'Cause the only person I want to shag is you." Oliver let out a gasp as Marcus planted his hand firmly on his bum and gave it a squeeze.

"Pack it in," he yelped and dodged out of his boyfriend's reach. "Someone could see."

"There's no one around, you girly twat," Marcus scoffed. "And who cares? We can always just…" he patted his pocket that held his wand, "you know."

"We are not Obliviating anyone," Oliver snapped. "Right?"

"Bloody Gryffindor."

"Slytherin," Oliver snapped back. He saw they were nearing the turn off to Colin's street and he slowed his pace. "Look, I'm being serious."

"So am I." The hand reached out again, but Oliver was expecting it this time and he batted it away.

"Marcus…"

"Fine." Marcus raised his hands in defeat, sliding them back into his pockets. "I'll behave."

"Yeah…er…that's kind of the favour I wanted to ask you." Oliver turned his face away and concentrated on the street they were walking along. "Colin doesn't know about me…um…us…" he floundered, "the whole thing, really."

Marcus's hand gripped his arm and pulled him to a jarring stop. He reluctantly turned to face the other boy, seeing the shocked expression on his face.

"'Ang on a minute. You're trying to tell me that this bloke knows you're a wizard, but you've never told him you're a poof?"

Oliver winced at the coarseness of Marcus's words. "It never came up."

"Obviously." Marcus sneered lasciviously. "'Cause you've have had to have told 'im then, wouldn't you?"

"Fuck off." Oliver yanked his arm out of the other's grip and turned away, the now all too familiar irritation bubbling under his skin as he started to walk on. He heard Marcus muttering and then he was at his side.

"Wood, mate, lighten up a bit, eh?" When Oliver didn't respond, just gritted his teeth and kept on going, Marcus said, " _Merlin_. Ol, I'll keep my gob shut, all right? Won't tell 'im a thing."

"Fine."

A huff of breath. "Yeah, but you owe me for this."

The meaning was clear, and Oliver couldn't help the little grin that sneaked onto his lips. "Fine," he repeated.


End file.
